In Your Dreams
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: COMPLETE. Part 2 of the limited series: “The Quicksilver Scenario.” A week after the events of “Contact,” Ralph discovers unexpected side effects of the desert adventure. Set between the 2nd and 3rd Seasons. Rated for violence and one Russian swear word.
1. Chapter 1

**In Your Dreams**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life. _

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Note: This story takes place one week after the events of "Contact." You don't have to read "Contact" first, but it wouldn't hurt.

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Ralph Hinkley, schoolteacher and part-time super hero, stood staring down at his phone. The old saying about pots apparently also applied to answering machines. No matter how long he stared, the light would not go on.

Of course, he'd tried not looking at it. He'd scored his personal best endurance record on Wednesday. If he included the eight hours he spent teaching Summer school, plus the 90 minutes he'd spent in the staff meeting, plus travel time to and from work, he had spent a good 10 hours not looking at his answering machine.

Calling it from school every half hour didn't count. He wasn't physically looking at it.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to catch it on fire?"

He jumped guiltily. Pam walked over from the kitchen. She looped an arm around his waist and stood staring down at the machine with him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder.

He turned in her embrace and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. He breathed in the faint vanilla scent of her long, dark hair.

"You should call him," she murmured. "He'd return your call. You might even get him on the phone."

"I know, I should," he said. "It's just- "

He sighed.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to say."

Pam gave his waist a gentle squeeze.

"He's your son," she said. "It doesn't really matter what you say, as long as you talk."

He laughed.

"You don't think I should call up and say, 'Son, guess what? Your Dad almost died at the hands of an alien invader last weekend. So, how's Miami?'"

She laughed and pushed him away.

"Save that conversation for some Thanksgiving," she said, moving back to the kitchen. "When you run out of things to say after, 'please, pass the gravy'."

"Sounds like more an Easter kind of conversation," he said.

"Blasphemer," she called from the kitchen.

He grinned and crossed to the dining room cabinet. He tugged open the linen drawer and rummaged for two matching placemats.

"But speaking of Pontius," Pam said.

He turned to see her standing in the arched doorway that led to the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand.

"How is Bill?" she said.

"Pam," he said evenly.

"I know," she said, holding up the spoon like a shield. "I know, he saved your life and I'm very glad, but the fact remains it was his fault you were out there."

"We don't know that," he said, turning back to the linen drawer. "Aliens work in mysterious ways."

He spotted two placemats with a similar configuration of vine leaves on a black background and pulled them out.

"If Bill hadn't decided to go out there, they would have engineered something else," he said. "Maybe they engineered that."

He laid a placemat on either side of the compact table.

"I don't think there's any such thing as coincidence where they're concerned," he said.

"I understand that," said Pam.

He looked up. She was chewing her lower lip and staring into space.

"I'm trying to be reasonable about this, really I am," she said at last. "Because I know it's not your fault. But, Ralph…

She met his eyes.

"I can't take much more of this," she said.

She pointed her spoon at his chest.

"And I don't think you can either," she said. "Between Bill and your alien buddies, you'll be lucky to see another birthday."

He turned back to the drawer and began sifting through the napkins.

"On the other hand," he said, "Maybe the worst is over. It could be all kittens up trees from now on. There's no way to know. But I'll tell you what I am worried about."

"What's that?" she said softly.

"Have you ever made rice pilaf before?" he said. "Because I don't think it's supposed to smell like that."

She snorted.

"Hey, flyboy," she said, and he heard her move back into the kitchen. "Critique my cooking when you've mastered something more complicated than Macaroni and Cheese ala Ralph."

There was one black, vine leaf covered napkin at the bottom of the drawer. He pulled it out and rummaged for its mate.

"Seriously, though-" she called.

"You weren't being serious before?" he said. "I think I'm hurt."

"Boy, you are quite the comedian tonight," she said. "If I say the secret word, will a duck drop out of the ceiling?"

He laughed.

"Sorry," he said. "Guess I'm still just glad to be alive. Do you know if we've got another one of these?"

"These what?"

He turned to find her in the doorway again. He showed her the vine leaf covered napkin.

"Bill used it as a tourniquet," she said.

"Oh."

He looked at the napkin in his hand.

"Do you mind if they don't match?" he said, pointing at the table.

She shrugged.

"When I care about matching table linen, we'll eat at my place," she said.

"Great," he pulled out a saffron yellow napkin and tossed it on the table.

"What did you start to say a minute ago," he said, shoving the drawer closed.

"It was about Bill, actually," she said. "Come help me in the kitchen."

He followed her to the small galley kitchen and extended his hands docilely.

"It's not that I miss him or anything," she said passing him a salad bowl full of shredded lettuce. "I've enjoyed the peace and quiet."

"But isn't it odd," she said, following him to the dinner table with a basket of rolls. "Not to hear from him for a whole week?"

He set down the bowl and fished out a piece of lettuce. "Now that you mention it," he said, "It is. I guess I was just so obsessed with thinking about Kevin, it never occurred to me."

He chewed the lettuce leaf thoughtfully and reached around to the hip pocket of his khakis. He felt the familiar shape of his two-way communicator. He tugged it out and turned it over in his hand.

Pam was back in the kitchen. From the sound of rattling dishes, he guessed she was looking for a serving bowl for the pilaf.

"Well, maybe you should give Bill a ring, too, you know," she called. "Just to check in."

"Yeah, I think I will," he said and thumbed the communicator's microphone switch.

"Bill," he said. "Are you there?"

Pam reappeared in the doorway, serving spoon raised.

"I meant after dinner!" she hissed.

He grimaced and mouthed "sorry!" She rolled her eyes and went back in the kitchen.

"I've only got enough pilaf for two," she called. "If he comes over he's going to have to bring a burger."

"I'll tell him," he called back.

"Bill," he said into his palm. "Breaker good buddy, come back."

He listened. There was no sound from the tiny speaker. He frowned at the communicator. The one control opened the radio link; there was no way to adjust the volume.

"Bill, it's Ralph," he said. "Um. Obviously. Are you there?"

Pam cocked an eyebrow at him as she moved to the table and centered the bowl of pilaf between the two placemats.

"No answer?" she said.

"No."

"That's strange," she said. "I thought he even took it in the shower with him."

"He does," Ralph answered.

"I was just kidding, Ralph," she said, crossing to his side. "That's weird."

"That's Bill," he said.

"How long is the battery life?" Pam asked. "Maybe his died."

"No," Ralph said. "It's a special top secret isotope battery or something. He said we should never have to replace it."

"That's what they said about the Titanic."

He shook the communicator and held it up to his ear. There might have been a faint sound of movement, like rustling paper or fabric. If so, it was too low to make out.

He met Pam's eyes. She sighed.

"I'll put the pilaf back in the oven," she said.

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He was dressed in the new suit in a matter of minutes. It was a little strange to pull it on again after a week, especially considering the circumstances when he'd first worn it. But, he thought, it was time to give it a test run and see if the "little green guys" had given him a Super Suit Mark 2.

Pam sat on the bed watching him.

"Does it feel any different?" she said.

He shook his head.

"Same as always," he said. "You'd never know it was a new one."

He snugged the tops of his boots over his leggings.

"That's custom tailoring for you," Pam said.

"Or mass production," he said, adjusting the belt. "It's hard to say which."

"What are you going to use?" she said.

He held up the communicator.

"I'll try this first, although honestly," he said. "There's no shortage of things he's been in contact with around here."

"Including you," she said.

He shot her a look.

"If you don't mind," he said. "I'm trying to focus."

He took in a deep breath and held the communicator in both hands. Almost immediately, he felt the familiar tickling sensation at the base of his skull. It built quickly to a heavy pressure, thrusting into his head.

"I'm getting something," he said. "It's strong."

He stared fixedly at the small mirror on the back of the bedroom door.

A wavering picture began to appear, like an image reflected in rippling water. As the ripples slowed, the picture solidified.

But instead of resolving into an image, the picture morphed from wobbling bands of white to a solid field of white.

"What do you see?" said Pam.

"I'm not sure, it's all-"

His voice trailed off as the white shredded and drifted away.

"It's smoke," he said. "And…"

Beyond the smoke, figures were moving. They wore green uniforms. And helmets. They were carrying rifles. Someone yelled and they all dropped to the forest floor. A shell exploded spewing up fragments of vegetable matter and-

"Ralph!"

Pam was holding his shoulders and shaking him. He heard her gasp.

"Can you see it?" he whispered. The soldiers were climbing to their feet, covered in leaves and debris. Most of them were moving – not all of them.

"What does it mean?" she said. Her voice sounded choked. "Is he dreaming?"

"It's so real," he murmured. "I can smell-"

A young soldier clambered to his feet at the edge of the clearing. His face was as smooth and as lean as a knife blade, but the solid angle of the jaw was as unmistakable as the sharp eyes.

"There he is!" Ralph said. He pointed at the young soldier. "Right there."

"He's so young," Pam whispered. "Ralph, I think this is Korea."

Ralph watched as the young man knelt by one of the GIs who hadn't tried to stand. Bill touched his shoulder and carefully turned him over. The fallen soldier was clearly dead. He stared at the overhanging trees with wide, sightless blue eyes.

"Ralph, that's-"

"Yeah," he said.

"Ralph, this is scary," Pam said.

Bill wiped a hand across his eyes and moved off, trudging across the leaf litter and fallen branches.

Ralph studied his own face, staring up from the forest floor with dead eyes.

"Honey," said Pam. "Why is Bill dreaming you're dead?"

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Ralph was running when he reached the back door. He yanked it open and jumped down the two steps to the small patch of backyard.

"Wait, Ralph!" Pam called behind him.

He spun toward the house and took two long steps backward. If he pushed off hard, he thought, he could just clear the roof.

She skidded on the backdoor mat and caught herself against the railing.

"Be reasonable, Ralph! You don't know where you're going – You don't even know for sure something's wrong!"

He stared at her. Her face was pale as she bent toward him.

"Something's wrong," he said at last. "Pam, I don't know what else to do."

She exhaled slowly, then held out her hand.

"Get in the car," she said. "I'm driving."

-continued-


	2. Chapter 2

Ralph leaned forward in the passenger seat of Pam's VW Bug. He squinted into the tiny mirror behind the sun visor.

"Anything?" she said.

He exhaled.

"No," he said. "Just the beginning of a blinding headache."

"Should we really be worried about a dream?" she said.

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It was real." He bounced his head against the seat. "No, it wasn't real, but it was more than a dream."

"I'm not making any sense am I?" he said.

"No," she said and patted his knee. "But we'll find him."

They drove in silence. Ralph blinked hard and tried to focus on the vanity mirror.

"This is just an idea," Pam said at last. "But maybe you're trying too hard."

He looked over and she glanced away from the road to meet his eyes.

"What if-" she looked back at the road. "Well, it seems like you're in Bill's head. That's the only explanation, right?"

He nodded.

"I think so."

"Maybe you're too close right now," she said. "I mean, after last weekend. Maybe if you-"

She chewed her lip for a moment.

"You know how sometimes, when you look at an optical illusion, you see one thing first, then you relax your eyes and suddenly it looks completely different?"

She glanced over at him.

"Can you relax your mental eyes?" she said.

He leaned back in the seat.

"I can try," he said.

He made a conscious effort to relax his hands, his arms, his legs. He forced his jaw muscles to unclench. He inhaled deeply and counted to five while he exhaled.

Pam turned the wheel and scenery slid away to his right. He looked into the mirror and saw his own face looking back.

"We're almost to Bill's," said Pam quietly. "If it doesn't work here in the car we can try again upstairs."

A tickle started at the top of his spine. He almost stretched toward it, but stopped himself in time. The tickle grew, filling his mind like water flowing uphill.

"It's working," he said softly.

The mirror wavered as if in a heat haze.

He called out the pictures as they took form.

"A square building, one room with windows on… three sides. It's a steering deck on a ship. There are blocks. Containers stacked on the deck. A carrier ship."

He leaned forward, then felt a hand gently pushing him back against the seat. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding and seemed to sink down through the deck.

"Two levels, three levels, bunks," he narrated as the images sleeted past like floors outside an elevator.

"The hold, I think," he said, staring around at the cavernous room. "It's empty except… There's a door on one wall. It's hard to see; it's pretty dark. There's… it's a metal box on the opposite wall. It's one of those transport containers – about the size of a U-haul, but it-"

He blinked.

"It's got bars on one side. I-It's a cage."

As if from a long way away he heard Pam's sharp intake of breath.

He drifted toward the cage. Something shifted inside. A huddled shape.

"There's something- I can't quite-"

The shape moved, uncurled and fell sideways.

Ralph choked out the words, "It's Bill, Pam. He looks bad. His face is all gray. He- wait, I think-"

He moved closer as Bill rolled over onto his back. He watched as Bill's fingers dug at the metal decking. His legs bent and pushed against the floor. His broad chest heaved with the effort as he pushed up on one arm. His head sagged forward, then slowly lifted. His eyes shifted behind his closed lids.

Ralph heard Pam's voice fading in and out of hearing.

"-happening, Ralph? Can you see-"

In fits and jerks, Bill's eyes fluttered open.

"He's trying to wake up," Ralph breathed. "I think he's drugged."

His vision shifted and he was beyond the bars, inside the huge metal container.

Bill pushed up on one arm, the other was bent at an odd angle. His white shirt was torn and stained with red. He shoved up on his good arm, his back pushing along the container wall, leaving streaked bloodstains.

"He's trying to focus, his eyes aren't working right…"

Bill narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. Ralph gasped as he recognized the gesture.

"Pam," Ralph breathed, "I think he can-"

Bill's head turned and his unfocused eyes looked into Ralph's. His cracked lips moved.

"R-r-ra-?" the sound ended in a sighing breath.

Ralph felt his own breathing accelerate. He fought to stay calm.

"Bill," he breathed, "Can you hear me?"

Bill's head moved; he nodded.

Clamping down the astonished thoughts racing through his mind, Ralph forced himself to speak slowly.

"Bill," he said, shaping each word with care. "Hold on. I'm coming."

The other man blinked slowly.

"Where-?" he said in a rasping whisper.

"You're on a boat," Ralph said. "I'm not really here, well, I am, sort of, but-"

He jumped as the door on the other side of the huge room banged open. He looked up to see two men in dark coats, one short, one long, stride across the wide room, marching through pale pools of light cast by round work lights in the roof high above.

He leaned toward Bill and whispered urgently.

"I'll find you. I promise, I'll find you."

Bill exhaled a shuddering breath and slumped back against the wall. His head sagged.

As they reached the cage, the smaller of the two men pulled a small black case from the pocket of his woolen peacoat.

"Well, Mr. Maxwell," he said in clipped, faintly accented tones. "It seems I am just in time."

The man opened the case and lifted out a long-needled syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid. He deftly fitted the syringe into the rubber top of the bottle with one hand and pulled back the plunger with the other.

"Arm," he said absently, as if to himself.

The overcoated man stepped forward and reached between the bars. His thick hand closed over Bill's broken arm and pulled. Ralph heard Bill's hiss of pain.

"Hey!" Ralph said. He reached out to push the man's hand away and saw his fingers pass through the man's coat sleeve and out the other side. He watched helplessly as the man dragged Bill sideways.

Bill seemed to have no strength to resist. He fell toward the bars, but at the last instant stiffened and heaved himself in the opposite direction, dragging the other man face first into the cage. Bill's mouth turned up in a grim smile.

In an instant, the overcoated man regained his grip and yanked. He wrenched Bill's broken arm to the side and dragged it between the bars. Bill's chest heaved, but he didn't resist.

The overcoated man reached into a pocket with his free hand and pulled out a handkerchief. He swiped at the blood streaming from his nose.

"Interesting," said the peacoated man with a tight smile.

He pushed the needle back into the bottle and drew out twice the liquid of the original dose. He bent and jabbed the needle into Bill's upper arm, ramming the plunger home with startling force.

"After that display I think we will increase the dose, Mr. Maxwell. Although I'm sure Lugaz would prefer you to be awake while he repays you for his broken nose."

Bill's body spasmed and his head rolled to the side. The overcoated man released his grip and let Bill fall. His head hit the floor with a thump.

The two men stood watching for a long moment, then turned toward the door. Their voices carried back across the hold.

"Such an interesting specimen," said overcoated man, "I will be curious to see if he survives that dose."

"Yavshinko will be disappointed if he dies, Doctor," said Lugaz in a nasal growl.

"Animals die in transport all the time," said the Doctor. ""What is one, more or less?"

They disappeared through the far door.

Ralph bent down.

"Bill," he said. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

Ralph reached out a hand toward the slack body and the walls shimmered and changed. For the space of a breath, he was sitting in Pam's VW, and in the next instant he was in a tenement apartment. Outside a broad river ran past the building. A train rattled by with a shrieking wail seemingly inches from the outer wall. Bill sat by the window, thumbing through a loose-leaf notebook.

This Bill was older than the boyish soldier, but not by much. His face bore a few strained lines around the eyes, but there were no flecks of gray in his thick, brown hair. A heavy revolver lay on the table in front of him as he read.

A man with a shoulder holster sat on the nearby bed playing solitaire. As he laid down a card, there was a crack of splintering wood and the door burst open. A spray of gunfire beat against the walls, shattering the window. Bill dived for the floor. The gunfire cut off and running footsteps pounded down the stairs outside. Bill climbed shakily to his feet. Blood ran down his arm from a hole in his shoulder. He sagged to his knees by the bed. The other agent lay across it, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He had Ralph's face.

"No!" Ralph shouted. "Listen to me, Bill. It's just a dream."

Bill didn't react. He reached out toward the fallen man and touched his fingers to the still throat.

Ralph's vision blurred and the dirty gray walls seemed to vibrate. They faded to white and fell away. The sound of traffic fell on his hears with a near physical roar and the next instant he was staring at his own reflection in the vanity mirror in Pam's VW.

He heard Pam give a long exhale in the seat beside him.

"You're back," she said. "Tell me you're back."

Ralph nodded and slumped forward until his forehead rested against the dashboard.

"Pam," he said softly. "I really need an aspirin."

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They were standing on the flat roof of Bill's apartment building. Early evening traffic hummed on the street below.

"Has that ever happened before?" Pam said.

"Nothing like it," Ralph said pacing out his runway on the concrete roof. "And it was only Bill. The other guys didn't hear me at all."

"Do you think it's the new suit?" she said.

"I don't know," Ralph said. He kicked away a stray piece of tile. "I can't think about it now. I've got to find him."

"You've got to find the ship first," Pam said.

"I know," Ralph said and sighed. "I guess I'll just relax and fly and hope I get another vision."

He looked up to see Pam cock an eyebrow at him.

"Relax and fly at the same time," she said slowly. "Can I offer you a life vest?"

He flashed what he hoped looked like a confident smile.

"I'm a pretty strong swimmer," he said.

He turned away and took a few practice steps across the roof.

"At least let me drive you to the coast," she said behind him.

He turned back, shaking his head.

"It would take too long," he said. "Bill's running out of time."

She nodded.

"I know," she said and took a deep breath. "Okay, got your spare aspirin?"

He held up his hand and showed her the bump in his sleeve next to the communicator.

"Good," she said.

As she moved toward him, he watched the way the evening breeze ruffled her hair, making the cascading waves sweep across her shoulders. Her creamy skin glowed in the dying light.

She brushed his face with her long, cool fingers and pulled him toward her. He bent forward and touched her soft lips with his own.

They kissed lightly once, twice and then deeply, all other sound and sensation falling away as he lived in the smell and the taste of her.

They parted at last and he brushed his thumb across her lip.

"Pam," he said. "I-"

"I know," she whispered. "Just come back."

She stepped back and gave him a gentle smile.

"Go get him," she said.

He nodded and turned away. He took a deep breath, consciously relaxed his tight limbs, then took three quick steps and leapt.

He looked back over his shoulder at the receding rooftop. Pam was barely visible as a pale shape in the darkness. He turned and sped out toward the sea.

-continued-


	3. Chapter 3

Relaxing and flying at the same time turned out to be surprisingly easy over water. With no unexpected buildings or trees to leap into his path, Ralph found that he could actually think about other things and fly on automatic.

He watched the waves flicker by below. The rising moon picked out each white crest in sliver.

He passed over a flight of pale, slender fish flitting inches below the waves. He tugged the communicator out of his sleeve and pressed it in his palm.

He let his eyes relax. The sliver waves blurred and blended. A picture formed of a huge ship, bounding over heaving swells far out to sea. On instinct, he arched, changing course by a few degrees.

Below, the waves flicked by like frames of a movie.

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Gray light was staining the Eastern sky when the ship came into view. It was unmistakable. There were the stacked containers, the high conning tower, the steering deck with windows on three sides.

He had hoped to make it before light. He had little hope of being mistaken for a scarlet ibis with a navigational disorder.

He opted for coming in low over the water in the hope that his cape would provide some camouflage. At the last instant, he pulled up, his eyes watering in the rapid ascent up the side of the giant ship. He reached the top deck and twisted into his planned roll.

The first couple of revolutions were perfect. He clamped his teeth down hard on his lower lip to stop his trademark collision-alert yodel. He tucked his head and hit the deck shoulder first, bouncing once and twice and on the third bounce his cape caught on a railing.

His head snapped back, then his leg flew out in front and up and over, landing him sprawled face first on the deck.

He lay on his belly, staring at the rivets that, he decided, had probably left a permanent perforation line down his chest.

"Fold here," he thought muzzily. Then he gave his head a hard shake.

He did a swift push up, tucked his knees up to his chest and eased into a low crouch. The deck was quiet except for the gentle slap of the ropes against their moorings.

He straightened and crossed to the nearest visible stairwell in three strides. The hours he'd spent studying the ship's image in the waves would pay off now. He knew he could find his way to the crew decks with no difficulty. Finding the cargo hold from there would just be a matter of applying pressure firmly and judiciously.

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Ralph gripped the sailor by his faded collar and pushed him hard against the bulkhead. The man's shoes beat against the wall a foot from the ground.

"Where is the cargo hold?" Ralph said firmly.

He blinked at the stream of frantic Russian that blurred past his ears.

"Okay," he said, when the tide of words seemed to ebb.

"Lu-gaz," he enunciated carefully.

The sailor blinked.

"Lugaz," he repeated. Before Ralph could resort to charades, the man pointed down and to his left.

"Lu-gaz," he said, his face curiously calm. Clearly he thought if Ralph was foolish enough to seek out Lugaz he deserved what he got.

"Thank you," said Ralph and reached up with his free hand to tap the sailor's head lightly against the bulkhead.

He relaxed his grip and the man slumped to the ground unconscious.

Ralph started down the companionway. Lugaz, it seemed, would be easy to find.

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Twenty minutes later he admitted he'd been wrong. The ship was a maze of corridors stacked a dozen deep. Each corridor was lined with hundreds of plain, metal doors – either unmarked or marked very clearly for the use of the average Russian.

There were surprisingly few crewmen for a ship this size. The three he'd encountered had been uniformly unhelpful.

And there were no maps anywhere.

He felt his blood pressure rising and forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He turned to the nearest unmarked door, pressed his palm against it and pushed.

It fell in with a dull clang that reverberated down the hall.

In the tiny room, a man in a black watch cap and boxer shorts sat up quickly and lay down just as quickly when Ralph's fist tapped him lightly on the chin.

A moment's searching turned up what he was looking for. Ralph pulled a scratched shaving mirror out of the sailor's shower bag. He'd been having good luck with reflective surfaces lately and didn't want to tempt his luck.

It was getting easier to sink into the light trance that showed him the ship. After a few deep breaths, the familiar gray bulkheads shimmered into focus.

He eased his mind down through the decks until he found the cavernous hold. Every instinct called him to move toward the cage against the wall, but he forced himself to travel over to the door and up the corridor outside, plotting a mental schematic of his route by tracing back to this sailor's bunk room.

Within a minute he was trotting down the corridor two decks below. That's where he found Lugaz.

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Lugaz was even more ugly in person, Ralph decided.

His squashed nose was red and swollen. Wads of bloodstained packing hung from his nostrils. His hands were particularly appalling with blackened and broken fingernails on short, club-shaped fingers.

His bulk filled the corridor like an overcoat-wearing tank. That's why his speed came as such a surprise.

Lugaz's heavy fist shot out and grabbed Ralph around the throat with the reflexes of a cobra. Ralph realized with dawning horror that the protection of the suit didn't extend as high as Lugaz's meaty thumb and forefinger.

Bright dots swarmed in his vision as he struggled to pry the massive fingers apart. Then, as the rushing in his ears rose to a deafening pitch, Ralph saw the answer. He raised his fist and brought it down on the overcoated arm right at the elbow.

Ralph heard a loud snap and the pressure on his Adam's apple vanished. He staggered back and leaned against the bulkhead, panting and rubbing his throat.

Lugaz cradled his useless arm and bared his teeth in a feral snarl. His next move came as no surprise to Ralph who was used to encountering men who mistook bravery for a loaded gun.

Lugaz reached into his overcoat with his good hand and drew out a long-barreled revolver. He sighted down the barrel, directly at the emblem on Ralph's chest. Ralph grinned as three bullets pinged off the suit and ricocheted down the hall.

Lugaz's fourth shot bounced off, hit a rivet in the floor and knocked the gun out of his hand. He stood blinking foolishly at his empty palm while Ralph bent and scooped up the weapon.

Ralph studied the gun for a longer moment than was strictly necessary. He looked up at Lugaz who regarded him with slack-jawed amazement.

As Ralph watched, he saw the man's pupils dilate and sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip as amazement turned into fear. Ralph didn't' move.

He wanted this man to fear him. He wanted to give this man a reason to fear him. He could, he knew. He could break every bone in this monster's body, then pick up the gun and shoot him. And then, only very much later, kill him.

The whole thing played like a movie in Ralph's head while Lugaz's breath whistled in and out through his slack mouth. Ralph stared down at the gun in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

He listened to the squeal of the metal as the barrel ground into the stock and the pop as the grip snapped and shattered. He opened his hand and the pieces rained down to the floor.

Lugaz was still staring at the wreckage of the gun when Ralph stepped across and backhanded him across the face. Lugaz spun away, slammed into the bulkhead and sagged to the floor.

Ralph stood looking down at him, breathing heavily. Then he stepped over the fallen body and continued down the hall.

--------------------

He found the cargo hold on the next level below. The wide door was marked with an international caution symbol that seemed to Ralph very appropriate. Anyone who encountered him now, he thought, should use extreme caution.

Ralph crossed the distance to the cage at a run. He skidded to a stop and gripped the nearest bars in both hands. With a high, rending whine of distressed metal the bars twisted and gapped open. He slipped inside and knelt by the huddled shape on the floor.

Bill lay on his side, his broken arm draped across his chest. In the dim light, Ralph thought the fingers on that hand looked blue. Bill's face was slick with sweat and his chest heaved with labored breath. The sound beat on Ralph's ears.

"Bill?" he said, reaching out to lay his hand along Bill's cheek. He touched the cool, damp skin and gasped as a thousand images exploded in his mind.

His brain tried to process them, flashing each up in a random, blinding rattle of sound and light, but they weren't sequential, they were simultaneous.

Colors - red, green, white, red – blew across this mind's eye, yet struck at once in a white/black blaze.

Sounds – rattle of bullets, explosion, gasping breath – chased one another and blared in a burst of deafening static.

Ralph was falling backward through space, twisting, tumbling, until he landed with a thud that drove the air from his lungs. He sat up in a damp cellar. Icy water ran in rivulets down the stone walls. Somewhere above was the roar of a river, then the sound faded and Ralph knew it was a passing train.

He looked up the shaking ladder that ran to the ceiling. Bill was climbing down, his hands slipping on the slimy rungs. This Bill was the oldest of the three in the dreams. His face was losing the sharp edges of youth and his hair was flecked with gray.

He jumped down the last few rungs and landed in a crouch on the cold floor. There was a body sprawled at the base of the ladder. Its deep blue suit was torn. Underneath it, a white shirt, now stained with blood, was open to the waist showing a crisscross of burns gouged into the skin.

The man's coffee-dark eyes were dim and unfocused. Black hair clung to his face in damp strands. As his chest heaved, each breath was punctuated by a wet rattle in his throat.

As Bill laid a hand lightly on his forehead, the man sighed heavily and the corners of his mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile. Then his eyes lost focus and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. A train roared overhead and Bill took his hand away.

Bill stood and took a step back. When Ralph looked back at the man on the floor, he saw his own face.

Ralph climbed to his feet and crossed the damp floor in two steps. He reached for Bill's shoulder and was surprised to feel fabric under his fingers. He stepped around until they were face to face.

"Bill," he said, forcing himself to speak slowly and clearly, "It's a dream. Wake up now. We need to go."

Bill blinked. He stared into Ralph's face, then looked down at the body on the floor. The dark-eyed man lay at the base of the ladder, his black hair clinging to his skin.

Ladder, walls, and roaring sound all faded. Last to fade was the man on the floor. Ralph stared into Bill's wide eyes, then moved his hand to the shoulder of Bill's unbroken arm and gently guided him to a sitting position on the floor of the cargo hold. Ralph felt a giddy smile curl his lips.

"That," he said, "Was really weird."

Bill's cracked lips moved; his eyebrows rose.

"R-ralph?" he breathed.

Ralph grinned.

"In the flesh," he said.

--------------------

Bill couldn't stand on his own, but he leaned against the wall and stayed upright when Ralph propped him against it.

"You," Ralph said gripping the bent bars, "Are not going to believe how hard it was to find you."

He tugged the protesting metal, widening the gap enough for Bill's larger frame.

"And I want to tell you right now," said Ralph, half-lifting, half-carrying Bill between the bars. "Just because I can fly across the Pacific, it doesn't mean I'm going to spy on Russian missile silos."

He stood outside the cage with Bill leaning heavily on his shoulder. He was weighing the options for long-range passenger flights, when the door on the other side of the cavernous room opened.

The peacoated Doctor stepped in and started across the floor. Some thirty crewmen, armed with various heavy implements from crow bars to industrial wrenches, filed in and fanned out behind him. The group crossed the floor, the Doctor out front as though leading a delegation. Ralph felt Bill raise his head and heard his breath quicken.

"And you must be Ralph," the Doctor said amiably as he crossed the floor toward the cage. "You created quite a trail of destruction on your journey here."

For the first time, Ralph got a clear look at the man. In other circumstances, Ralph thought, he would be called "fastidious".

The Doctor was pale, with smooth, almost waxy, skin. His dark hair was plastered down on either side of a razor-sharp part. He might have been 35 or 55; it was difficult to tell from his face. The only indication that he wasn't some self-satisfied businessman was the hard glitter in his watery eyes.

He came to a halt less than a yard away. The sailors hung back, standing loose-limbed and ready in a broad semi-circle.

"I admit," the Doctor said. "I thought your friend was raving."

As the Doctor reached into his pocket, Ralph shifted his weight to block Bill's body. The Doctor gave a thin smile and pulled out Bill's silver communicator. He turned it idly in his hand as he spoke.

"When I asked him about this instrument under-"

The Doctor smiled thinly. "-medication, he talked about someone named Ralph and a 'super suit'."

"I am afraid I owe him an apology," he went on. "I might not have been quite so harsh, had I known he was telling the truth."

The man shrugged.

"But that is water under the bridge, as you say."

He thrust both hands into the pockets of his woolen coat and rocked back on his heels.

"Possibly I am feeling generous," the Doctor said. "Because I know my buyer will agree, that you, Ralph, are a much better catch than a broken down Federal agent, no matter the - "

He grinned, showing a row of straight, white teeth. "Entertainment value."

Ralph felt Bill stir against his shoulder and tightened his grip on the man's good arm.

The Doctor chuckled.

"Your friend is annoyed with me," he said. "I do not blame him."

Bill moved again. Ralph heard him draw in a shuddering breath.

"I am afraid," said the Doctor, "Beyond my search for information, I was bored. My mother always said I was a terror when I was bored."

He shrugged.

"Perhaps she was right."

Ralph heard a rasping whisper in his ear.

"Up."

Despite himself, Ralph felt his eyes widen. The Doctor didn't miss the slip.

"Your friend continues to entertain, Mr. Hero," he said. Again, he flashed the tight smile. "Is he even now attempting a stratagem? So full of surprises. I would hate to lose the pleasure of his company."

The Doctor turned on his heel with crisp precision and marched toward the door. Ralph felt Bill tense beside him. As he reached the door, the Doctor barked out a command in Russian. The ring of sailors started forward.

-continued-


	4. Chapter 4

The sailor dressed in a fatigue jacket had hung back at first. As blow after blow was aimed at Ralph's head and body, he watched from the edge of the contracting ring.

Ralph kicked out, bringing down another man with the crack of a shattering patella, and the fatigue-clad sailor stepped forward. He was swinging a sledgehammer like it was a croquet mallet.

Ralph was so startled at reading "Maxwell" on the nametape above the jacket's breast pocket he missed parrying the first upswing and had to take a quick step back. He caught the hand on the downswing.

The sailor looked startled by the sensation of running his fist into a brick wall. Ralph plucked the hammer from his grip and used the empty hand as a lever to pivot the man around. He caught the jacket's collar and yanked down, stripping it off the sailor's arms. He tossed the jacket behind him to where Bill leaned against the bars of the cage.

He thought he heard the muttered words "dry cleaner" but couldn't be sure. He was concentrating on the two men that converged from his right and left.

The one on the left attacked first, bringing down a massive boat hook in a sweeping arc. Ralph caught it on the haft of the sledgehammer and hurled both away. Unarmed, the sailor fell back into the mob.

The attacker on the right aimed low, trying to sweep Ralph's legs out from under him with a thick chain. Ralph jumped as the chain rattled toward his knees and the chain continued its travel, taking out two more assailants.

Before they hit the ground, the next man attacked with a crowbar. Ralph caught the man's hand more tightly than he planned. He heard bones crunch before he hurled the man away. The screaming sailor spun across the deck knocking down two more.

"What I want to know is-" Ralph shouted ducking a wildly swinging ice hammer, "Who's driving the boat?"

He heard a snort from Bill and grinned.

Three more bodies went flying before Ralph pushed back the circle of thugs far enough to make room for a take off. He was sure that if they could make it across the room, he could secure the door and trap the sailors in the hold.

He blinked as a bullet tsinged past his ear. In the center of the crowd, a man in a black windbreaker took careful aim and squeezed off another shot. Ralph deflected the bullet with his forearm.

"Ralph!" a voice croaked.

He felt the change in air pressure before he whirled to see the three-foot wrench spinning toward his head. His hair was ruffled by the breeze as it passed.

There was a "crack" and a bullet slammed into his back. As he whirled to face the shooter an ice hammer flew past his head. One razor sharp tine grazed his cheek. He felt the sting and a warm liquid on his face.

There was a rumble in the crowd at the sight of blood. Ralph's stomach pitched. At that moment he knew, they weren't going to make it.

He remembered Bill saying, "We haven't failed yet." He heard Pam say, "That's what they said about the Titanic."

He didn't turn around. He didn't want Bill to see the defeat in his eyes.

A spinning crowbar hurtled through the air. Ralph caught it and parried a heavy blow from a boat hook.

They were going to wear him down by inches, he thought. The Doctor knew exactly what he was doing. He hurled the crowbar back into the crowd and heard a satisfying crunch of bone.

What he needed, he thought, was about 17 more crowbars. A spinning meat cleaver whizzed past his shoulder and clanged off the bars of the cage.

The cage.

He didn't stop to wonder if it was possible. It obviously wasn't. Instead of thinking, he just moved.

He spun around and met Bill's eyes.

"Drop!" he shouted.

The combat-trained professional didn't even blink. He was flat on the floor before Ralph started moving.

Ralph covered the three steps to the cage in one. He gripped the nearest bars, inhaled and pulled.

The massive container came up off the deck with a tearing sound as the bolts holding it to the deck sheared off.

The weight was incredible. Even with the suit, his arms were on fire. He grimaced and hoisted the box high enough to pass over Bill and took a step back.

He suddenly noticed how quiet the hold had become. The shouts and curses of the mob died away.

From the corner of his eye he saw half a dozen men already running for the door. Another handful followed them. There was some disturbance at the door. Ralph guessed they were all trying to fit through at one time. He didn't worry about them. He focused on the remaining sailors.

He would have laughed at the sight of their slack-jawed amazement if his stomach muscles didn't feel like they were about to pop like rubber bands. The important thing, he thought, was these men were too stupid to spread out.

He judged the angle of attack and tried to ignore the feeling that his vertebrae were being ground into powder. He knew he only had one shot and it had to count.

He sucked in a deep breath, took two turning steps, and released. The massive container sailed up and out. The distance wasn't bad, he thought, for possibly the least aerodynamic shape in the universe.

When it hit, the crashing impact made his teeth ache. The box screamed across the deck, rolling like a runaway freight train. Strips of torn metal flew from it like shrapnel.

The sailors who didn't jump out of the way in time went flying. The shooter in the black windbreaker jack knifed into the air and smashed to the deck.

Ralph made a mental note to look up a translation for the words "Ye-bahts kah-pahts!" Everyone seemed to be shouting it now as the few men still standing bolted for the door. Ralph didn't bother to watch them go.

Knees shaking, he sank to the deck. His legs felt like rubber. His arms, although still seemingly attached to his body, felt like they'd been torn off at the roots. With a trembling hand, he pushed his sweat soaked curls back from his forehead, then looked back over his shoulder at Bill and grinned.

Bill had managed to get to his knees and had somehow pulled his fatigue jacket up over his broken arm. He still looked weak and a little dazed, but some of the color had come back to his face. He gave Ralph a lopsided grin.

"Not bad," he said in a croaking whisper. "Next time-"

Ralph saw Bill's eyes shift, heard the intake of breath and the click of a cocking revolver. He was pushing off, diving blindly toward the sound, even before he heard the concussive crack and smelled acrid smoke. But he still wasn't fast enough.

The bullet sang past his shoulder as he leapt forward, forcing his leaden legs to respond. He was halfway to his target before his brain engaged and recognized the Doctor, standing inside the door, feet braced, sighting along the barrel for another shot.

It had just registered that the gun wasn't pointed at him, but aimed past his left ear, when he heard Bill's grunt of pain behind him.

A fraction of a second of indecision was all it took. Ralph stumbled, fell forward, saw a jagged beam of metal coming toward his head, and blackness.

-continued-


	5. Chapter 5

It took all the strength Ralph had left just to force his eyes open. He almost wished he hadn't. His first sight, as consciousness seeped through the fog in his mind, was Lugaz's face looking down at him.

Lugaz had been ugly before. Now he was frightening. Ralph's blow must have disconnected his jaw. It jutted out at a slight angle from his face showing bloody teeth. The man shouldn't have been able to stand upright. Nevertheless, he stared down at Ralph with bright, glittering eyes, a jagged beam of metal held loosely in his good hand.

"Quite a mess you made of our Lugaz," said an amiable, faintly accented voice. "But I gave him a something for the pain. He so wanted to be here for our… negotiations."

Ralph turned his throbbing head and saw the Doctor, standing a few feet away. He held a short-needled syringe, turning it so the clear liquid inside caught the light.

"I have only a small amount pain killer left," he said, studying the syringe. "I do not carry much. I do not often feel inclined to use it."

He gave Ralph a tight smile. "Unless it is to prolong my entertainment."

"However," he went on. "I could be persuaded to sacrifice it. If-"

The Doctor inclined his head and stepped to the side.

Bill sat propped against the wall. Blood soaked the shirt sleeve covering his unbroken arm from shoulder to wrist. Both arms were thrust behind his back. His jaw was tightly clenched. As Ralph watched, he stared up at the Doctor through narrowed eyes.

"Save it," Bill hissed. "You'll need it."

The Doctor's smile widened.

"Mr. Maxwell," he said, "You are the most entertaining man I have met in quite some time. But I will leave the choice of treatment to your friend."

He turned back to Ralph.

"Mr. Hero," he said. "It is your decision. Relief from pain comes in varying forms."

He lifted the syringe.

"Option one," he said. "Or…"

He placed the syringe carefully in the breast pocket of his peacoat, then lifted the jacket's hem aside to show the butt of a revolver tucked into his belt.

"Option two."

Ralph rolled to his side and pushed up onto his knees. He felt the cold pressure of a ragged piece of metal press against the back of his neck.

His head felt like it was stuffed with burning charcoal. Every movement caused a new burst of pain to flame inside his skull. His whole body hurt. And he was really tired of being pushed around.

He twisted and gripped the end of the metal shaft. Lugaz's shattered jaw moved and Ralph had the distinct impression he was trying to grin.

"Now, now, Mr. Hero," the Doctor said.

Ralph heard the hammer of the revolver click back. He slowly released his grip on the metal bar. As Lugaz let out a gasping laugh, blood dripped down his chin and splattered on the floor.

Ralph turned to face the Doctor. He had the cocked revolver pointed at Bill's head.

"What do you want?" Ralph grated out through clenched teeth.

The Doctor regarded him with wide eyes.

"I thought that would be obvious," he said pleasantly. "A Federal agent is a nice prize, but not, I think, worth expending this level of-"

He made a gesture that took in the battlefield that was the cargo hold.

"Energy," he continued. "My new prize is you, Mr. Hero."

He flashed his white teeth.

"Mr. Maxwell is simply what you would call-" He shrugged. "A negotiating chip."

"My demands are few," he went on. "I simply ask that you behave for the rest of our journey. When I have presented you to my client, I will release Mr. Maxwell."

"Really," said the Doctor. "My offer is very generous. It is still a long way to Vladivostok and I anticipate that the rest of the journey will be quite dull. As long as you behave, I will make every effort not to amuse myself at your friend's expense."

Ralph looked at Bill. His face was ashy-pale, but his eyes were hard as he stared back. Ralph knew if he made this bargain, Bill would never forgive him. He turned back to the Doctor.

"How do I know you'll let him go?" he said. He heard Bill growl deep in his throat.

The Doctor smiled indulgently.

"You do not," he said. "I, as you say, hold the cards. In fact, I am inclined to up the ante, to reinforce the urgency of your decision."

He flashed a smile. "And because even now I do not trust Mr. Maxwell."

"I could return him to a state of unconsciousness," the Doctor said, patting the pocket containing the black pouch. "But he is not so entertaining as when he is awake and angry. So..."

He raised the gun again. "I think... the leg this time. Don't you Lugaz?"

Lugaz grunted. Ralph didn't have to look to know he was giving another horrible, lop-sided grin.

"Mr. Maxwell," said the Doctor, training his revolver on Bill's knee. "Do you have a preference for left or right?"

Bill glared at the Doctor.

"My preference," Bill rasped between breaths, "Is for you to shut... up."

On the last word he shot Ralph a look. Ralph blinked.

The Doctor chuckled and pulled the hammer back.

"Marvelous," he said. "Both, then."

The Doctor inhaled and Ralph moved. He didn't think about angles or momentum or range or consequences. He forgot his pounding head, his trembling legs, the complete impossibility of what he was about to do.

As the Doctor tightened his finger on the trigger, Ralph uncoiled from the floor like a spring. When he thought back later, he couldn't remember his feet touching the ground after that first bound.

He caught the Doctor's arm as the gun discharged. A bullet pinged off the wall, but Ralph didn't slow down. He let the momentum of his leap carry him up and over the astonished face and as he gripped the sleeve of the Doctor's peacoat, he climbed, surging up and up.

He spotted a long bar running across the ceiling a few feet below the level of the roof. As he reached the top of the chamber, he leveled out and gripped the bar with his free hand.

Ralph slung a leg over the rail and glared down at the Doctor dangling below him. The Doctor was staring down the hundreds of feet to the metal plates of the deck.

"Tell me why," Ralph snarled, "I shouldn't drop you."

The Doctor looked up and met his eyes, his expression as bland as ever.

"My dear, Mr. Hero," he said. "You should."

More than anything, Ralph wanted to see the Doctor's upturned face go rigid with shock and then terror as he tumbled toward the deck far below. He wanted to hear the wet sound the body made when it finally slammed into the metal deck.

Ralph let out a choked cry of rage and peeled the gun from the Doctor's grip. He hurled it out into the void and didn't wait to hear it smash down.

His gazed raked the ceiling. A foot away, one of many support bars connected the railing to the roof. Supporting himself with his knee, Ralph reached over and pried the bar free from the ceiling, bending it upward. He shifted his grip on the Doctor's coat and slipped the hem onto the hook. The Doctor hung suspended, arms and legs dangling.

"Don't move," Ralph hissed. He turned and kicked off from the ceiling, barreling at top speed for the deck below.

He caught Lugaz's arm as the jagged metal bar came down toward Bill's head. It clattered away across the deck. Ralph jerked the gaping Lugaz off his feet, dragging him across the floor in his forward flight. Ralph came to a sliding stop and released his grip. Momentum carried Lugaz forward until he slammed into the bulk head with a dull thud. Panting, Ralph turned to Bill.

"My hero," Bill said, grinning. Ralph gave a mock bow.

"Now get these off me, would ya?" Bill said, inclining his head back.

Ralph saw Bill's hands were bound with cuffs. He carefully hooked a finger through each and snapped the metal loops. Bill sighed and pulled his arms forward. He winced as a fresh gout of blood seeped from the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Hate it when it don't go all the way through," he said. "Stings twice as bad."

Ralph grimaced.

"The bullet's still in there?" he said.

"Yeah," Bill said, wearily. "But, on the bright side, it's holding my arm on."

He started to laugh, but it turned into a gasping cough. Ralph watched helplessly as Bill wheezed. His face had lost some of its color and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Bill, I don't know much beyond basic first aid," Ralph said, anxiously. "What do you want me to do?"

Shuddering slightly, Bill opened his eyes again. They were pinched with pain.

"Just blow the hatch," he said between gasping breaths, "And get us out of here."

"Hatch?" said Ralph, puzzled.

"Yeah," Bill cocked his head toward the roof. "Bust it open. Let's go."

Ralph looked up. For the first time, he noticed the seam across the roof of the compartment and the huge metal-cased wheels at either end.

When he turned back, Bill was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't tell me," he muttered. "You took the stairs."

"Uh," Ralph's answer was interrupted by the sound of rending fabric. His head jerked up in time to see the distant shape of the Doctor slipping lower as the seam in his peacoat gave way.

"I'll be right back," Ralph said, and he took off for the ceiling.

"Ah, Mr. Hero," the Doctor said cheerfully. "You return. You are quite the, I think you say, soft touch."

Ralph didn't answer. He looped a leg over the bar and grabbed the Doctor's collar. With his free hand he felt along the seam in the roof, found an indentation and pushed. The metal folded up and out with a grinding shriek. Ralph's eyes reflexively squeezed shut as a beam of bright sunlight fell cross his face.

He blinked. For some reason, he hadn't expected it to be daylight outside the dim chamber. He felt the Doctor shifting in his grasp and gave the man a little shake.

"Don't test me," he said, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. "You really don't want to test me right now."

"On the contrary," said the Doctor. "I do."

Ralph felt him move again and looked down in time to see light glint off glass. The Doctor's closed hand shot upward. Ralph heaved the Doctor up through the gap in ceiling before his blow could connect.

When he emerged on the deck an instant later, Ralph found the Doctor sprawled on his back, a long-needled syringe clutched in his hand. Ralph recognized it instantly as the sedative he'd used on Bill.

"You are insane," Ralph snarled.

"You are not the first to make that observation," the Doctor answered pleasantly.

Ralph could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he jerked the syring out of the Doctor's grip and pulled him to his feet. He took grim satisfaction in the Doctor's hiss of indrawn breath as he ran forward and took off.

The open water glittered temptingly. Ralph forced himself to look up and spotted the conning tower high above the steering deck. He angled up and landed at the edge of a narrow railed observation platform at the top of the tower. He dropped the Doctor to the metal floor.

The Doctor looked up at him with an impassive expression.

"You should have dropped me in the sea, you know," he said. "You are very soft."

"Not that soft," Ralph growled as his fist lashed out. The Doctor sprawled back, unconscious.

Ralph turned to push off, then had a second thought. Still holding the long-needled hypodermic in one hand, he reached out with the other and stripped the torn peacoat off the Doctor's shoulders.

Clutching it, he jumped off the edge of the platform. As he plunged toward the hole in the hatch, he heard shouts. Half a dozen crewmen with semi-automatic weapons were clustered on the deck. They gaped as he shot past.

Bill had managed to climb to his feet and stood braced against the wall.

"I think we're going to have more company," Ralph said, dropping the peacoat at Bill's feet. He held up the long-needled syringe.

"Do you know what they gave you?" he said, turning it so the clear liquid caught the light. "Should we take it with us to the hospital?"

"No idea," said Bill. "Don't care. Drop it and let's go. Before-" he broke off just as Ralph spotted the movement in his own peripheral vision. Against the wall, Lugaz was climbing to his feet.

"For crying out loud," Ralph said. "What is this guy made of?"

"You have Federal sanction," Bill muttered through gritted teeth, "To tear him open and find out."

"You sure we don't need this?" Ralph said, holding up the syringe.

"Positive."

Ralph nodded and took two long strides to the swaying Lugaz. He thrust the needle through the sleeve of the overcoat and shoved the plunger home. Lugaz blinked, took one tottering step, and fell face-first to the deck.

"I enjoyed that," Bill said behind him.

"So did I," Ralph said. When he turned, he saw Bill's legs were shaking as he braced himself against the wall. In the light filtering down from the gap in the ceiling, Bill's skin was a patchwork of cuts and multi-colored bruises.

"Damn it," Ralph thought, "I wish I had time to find a First Aid kit."

"Look, Bill," Ralph said, changing direction and scooping the Doctor's jacket up from the deck. "I know you're not going to like this idea, but-"

Ralph fished in the pocket of the peacoat. He felt the squared-off shape of Bill's communicator, then his fingers closed on the short-needled syringe and he lifted it out.

"I've got the pain killer..."

"Kid," Bill said evenly. "How do you know what's really in there?"

Ralph stared at the clear liquid. In his mind's eye, he saw the Doctor trying to use his sedative while he dangled a hundred feet above the deck.

"You're right," Ralph said. He dropped the syringe to the ground and heard the glass cylinder smash. He held up his arm and showed Bill the bulge in his sleeve.

"Aspirin?" he said.

"Now, you're talking," Bill said. "Hand it over."

"Sorry I don't have any water," Ralph said, dropping the tablets in Bill's mouth. "I feel sure there's some vodka around..."

"Appealing," Bill said, chewing vigorously. "But it's time to get outta here, Ralph. I'm not kidding."

Ralph looked around at the sound of running footsteps. A squad of men with automatic rifles was pounding across the deck.

Ralph draped the Doctor's peacoat over Bill's bleeding shoulder as carefully as he could. As the sailors skidded to a stop and raised their weapons, he lifted Bill with an arm behind his shoulders and one behind his knees, ran and kicked off. A cascade of bullets rattled against the underside of the hatch as they whooshed through. They sailed up and away from the ship and Ralph saw the Doctor was beginning to stir on the conning tower.

"You're gonna be sorry you didn't drop him in," Bill said.

"I'd be sorry either way," Ralph said as they arced out over the water. "I can live with this way."

-continued-


	6. Chapter 6

They'd been flying for several hours when Ralph felt Bill's shoulders shaking. Alarmed, he looked down.

"You took the stairs," Bill said, rocking with laughter. "I can't believe you took the stairs."

Ralph rolled his eyes.

"Are you ever going to let me live that down?" he said.

"Not on your life."

"I could always let you swim back," Ralph said evenly. "You know-"

He broke off. Bill's laugh had turning into a shuddering cough.

"Are you okay?" Ralph said when the coughing subsided.

"Not really," Bill wheezed.

"Listen, kid," he went on weakly. "I think I'm gonna pass out for a little while. Sorry…" His strained voice died away.

Ralph felt the body in his arms slump and relax.

"Bill?"

There was no response. Ralph felt blind panic rise in his chest; there was no place to set down, no boat or buoy as far as the horizon. A moment later Bill stirred and Ralph felt a sighing breath against his cheek.

After long minutes with no change for the worse, Ralph began to relax. He found himself staring at his own lengthening shadow as it streamed out ahead on the surface of the water. The flicker of light and shadow was hypnotic.

Bill stirred again and his head fell forward to rest against Ralph's chin. A wild cacophony of color and sound burst across Ralph's mind. This time when the vision took him, he landed on rocky sand.

The sky overhead was a velvety blue-black and sprinkled with stars. As he climbed to his feet, Ralph saw his station wagon standing a few yards away. The engine was running.

He turned and saw Bill kneeling by his body. This time, Ralph knew, it really was himself he was seeing. It was that night, only a week ago as amazing as it seemed now.

He remembered opening his eyes, seeing Bill, and the next instant finding himself in a stark white room. He'd known, without question, he was in the alien ship. A strange voice, flat and toneless like a computer's, had told him about the alien hunter's genetic-based weapon. It had described his injuries and what Bill had done to save his life.

He had heard it and thought he understood. But standing on the dark sand, looking down at Bill's stricken face as he went through the motions of CPR, Ralph knew he hadn't understood at all.

Ralph watched himself take one breath, and another. He saw Bill sink back on his heels, shaking; whether from cold or shock or both, Ralph didn't know.

Bill whispered something Ralph couldn't quite hear, and reached out to brush the hair back from his forehead. As he stepped forward, he caught Bill's next words.

"Don't do that to me again."

Ralph's throat felt too tight to speak. He watched as Bill moved to lift him up off the sand. Then he saw Bill's eyes widen in surprise just before the scene rippled and went dark.

Ralph blinked in confusion. With a shock, he realized he was lying down in the back of the station wagon. Blue light streamed in through the windows, lighting up Bill's face.

Bill was looking down at him with an expression that was a strange mixture of relief and fear and something else. Ralph knew he had only a second. He had to tell Bill not feel guilty, that it wasn't his fault. He took a breath and the world faded to white.

The gentle swells of the ocean rolled out in front of him. Bill stirred in his arms, but didn't wake. Ralph flew on toward the darkening horizon, thinking hard about the strange knot in the pit of his stomach.

-continued-


	7. Chapter 7

Ralph shifted the bouquet of candy-colored daisies to his other hand and pushed open the heavy glass door of the hospital visitor's entrance. He held it for Pam, then followed her through. He enjoyed a lingering look at the way her hips shifted inside her slim-fitting skirt before he took two quick steps and caught up. They walked side by side down the long, white corridor.

Pam glanced over at him.

"You look tired," she said. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

He shrugged.

"A little I guess," he said. "They made me leave about 2:30. They said they'd call if he woke up, so I went home and tried to unwind."

He trailed his hand along the silver rail that ran down the length of the wall.

"How did you sleep?" he said.

"Like a rock," she answered.

At his questioning look, she said, "That's just how I deal with stress."

"I did have a really strange dream," she went on, frowning. "Something about a cave. It was all blue and there was a man made out of fi-"

She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a stop in the hallway. Her eyes narrowed.

"Ralph, you weren't there were you?" she said. "I didn't see you, but-"

"No!" he said. "I wouldn't-"

He broke off as she raised an eyebrow.

"All right," he said hastily. "I did try it, but I didn't get anything."

"Ralph," she said dangerously.

"I just wanted to see if it worked," he said. "Honest. I wasn't trying to spy on your dream."

She shook her head and started back down the corridor.

"An emergency's one thing," she said over her shoulder. "But you can't use the suit to entertain yourself. It's not fair."

"It was just an experiment," he said, trotting to catch up. "I swear."

"Just don't try it again."

They reached the elevators and Pam reached out to push the call button.

"Besides," she said. "We'd both be embarrassed if you walked in on my dream about Harrison Ford."

She flashed him a bright smile as the elevator doors slid open.

"Okay," he said, grinning. "I deserved that."

A burly attendant with a chain tattoo showing under the sleeve of this blue scrubs shuffled to the side as they stepped into the car.

"Did you try again with Bill?" Pam said softly as the doors hissed shut.

"Yeah," he said and punched the button for the sixth floor. "For half the night. Nothing. It was like he wasn't even there."

"Maybe you were trying too hard again," she said. "You have to relax and let it happen."

"I know, you're right," he said, watching the floor numbers tick slowly by on the digital display. "I just really thought I could reach him. This special connection between us…"

He sighed and fell silent.

The car bumped to a halt on the fourth floor. As the doors slid open, the attendant turned to Ralph.

"Listen to the lady," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "You can't force it. Cool down and give this Bill guy a chance to see what he's missing."

He stepped out and turned and cast an appraising look down Ralph's frame.

"Besides," he said, "You're a babe. Bill would be crazy to pass you up."

The doors slid together. Ralph stood staring blankly at the seam.

"It's okay," he said finally. "You can laugh."

When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Pam was bracing herself against the wall, still shaking with ripples of laughter.

"Are you almost done?" he said, stepping out into the hall. "This is a hospital you know. You're supposed to be quiet."

Chuckling, she stepped out and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"You are a babe," she said softly.

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Same to you," he said and took her hand in his. "This way."

He led her down the long, white corridor, identical to one below.

"When they called," she said. "Did they tell you what to expect?"

"They said he probably hadn't had anything to eat or drink for days," he answered. "It turns out the dehydration was the worst thing. That's what knocked him out, even more than the blood loss."

They passed another set of featureless doors and turned left.

"But when you factor in all the other stuff," he went on, "Like the sedatives they were pumping into him, the broken arm, broken ribs, who knows what else…"

He shook his head.

"They said it'll take a while before he's back to his old-"

Ralph broke off as they came around another corner and heard Bill's raised voice ringing down the hall.

"You can't lock the door," he said. "I am a Federal agent. I'll book you for fire code violations."

A tall nurse was leaning into a room on the right. Her voice was calm, but firm.

"I'm not locking you in, Mr. Maxwell," she said. "Dr. Marcus said if you wouldn't stay in bed he wanted us to shut the door. He says you can come out when you can work the handle."

Pam glanced at her watch.

"I guess when they told you it would take a while," she said, "They meant 57 minutes."

"I imagine they based that on past experience with mere mortals," Ralph said. "They didn't count on Bill Maxwell, Super Fed."

"He does tend to surprise people," she said.

They walked up behind the nurse as she turned in the doorway. Her pretty, freckled face was flushed and her white hat was slightly askew on her auburn hair.

"Oh," she said a little breathlessly. "Mr. Hinkley, see what you can do with him."

She glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice.

"We're a little concerned that it might be a reaction to one of the stronger antibiotics," she said. "They can cause signs of dementia."

"So can Bill," Pam said pleasantly.

"We'll do our best, Leslie," Ralph said quickly and pushed Pam through the door. Smiling brightly at the wide-eyed nurse, he pulled the door shut behind them.

"Glad you're here, Counselor," Bill said briskly. "I think we've got a case against this Marcus creep. It's gotta be against some kind of statute to lock up a guy with two bum arms."

He raised his blue slings, grimaced, and dropped his arms back to the the rumpled bedclothes.

"Look at the bright side, Bill," Pam said taking a seat in a square-cushioned chair at the foot of the bed. "At least you're symmetrical for once."

Bill scowled.

"That's real nice, Counselor," he said. "If that's your idea of a pep talk I'd stay away from the Suicide Hotline."

Ralph was still smiling as he looked back and forth between them. Bill finally glanced over and paused in the act of explaining to Pam why the nursing staff should be brought up on charges of over-bathing their patients.

"What are you grinning at?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "You enjoying my misery, too?"

Ralph's smile widened.

"You look great!" he said. "Especially for a guy that was doing a good impression of road kill yesterday."

"Yeah, well," Bill said, color rising in his cheeks. "Clean living and a pure heart. Works every time. What's that?"

Bill cocked his head at the bouquet in Ralph's hand.

"Flowers," he said, holding the daisies out for inspection. "From the kids. The card says 'Get well soon'."

"Original," said Bill, staring at the flowers. "I'll bet Villicana stole 'em out of the graveyard with his own two hands."

"They wanted to do something nice for you," Ralph said, glancing around the room for something that would serve as a vase. "Those kids really look up to you, Bill."

Bill barked a laugh.

"Yeah," he said, "As a future witness at their parole hearings."

Ralph rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said, crossing the room. "I'll just put them over here by the window."

"Hold it," Bill said quickly. "They'll dry up over there."

He cocked his head at the table by the bed.

"Put 'em in that water glass," he said. "I can't pick it up anyway. I think Nurse Ratchett just put it there to torture me."

Ralph bit his lip to hide his smile as he moved back to the bed. He exchanged a quick look with Pam as he carefully arranged the flowers in the water glass.

"We could get you some crushed ice or something," Ralph said. "Pam, didn't you say you wanted to go to the cafeteria?"

Pam blinked at him.

"Uh, sure," she said slowly. "I need a cup of coffee. You want crushed ice, Bill?"

"Coffee," he said. "And lots of it. I'll pay you back when I can hold my wallet again."

"Bill," Ralph said with a meaningful look at the IV bottle standing on the other side of the bed. "I don't think you should have coffee when you're dehydrated. It's a diuretic."

Bill snorted.

"That's crazy," he said. "Coffee's just flavored water. It's good for you."

He looked at Pam as she stood up from the chair.

"Make it a double, sweetheart."

"Right," she said and looked over at Ralph. "I'm not arguing with him about it. He's old enough to make his own boneheaded decisions."

"Thank-" Bill broke off and narrowed his eyes.

"Coffee's not getting any hotter," he said grimly.

"I'm going," she said, crossing to the door. "Ralph, if you need me, I'll be… somewhere else."

She stepped out into the hall and shut the door.

Ralph lifted the tallest daisy out of the water glass and tore off the tip of the stem.

"Bill," he said, pushing the flower back into the center of the bouquet, "I wanted to talk to you for a minute alone."

"Really," Bill said. "Well, I never would'a guessed. You two were so subtle with your crushed ice and coffee scam."

Ralph looked over and saw Bill studying him narrowly. He heaved a sigh.

"Okay, Bill," he said. "I just wanted to say, you don't have to feel guilty about what happened in the desert."

"Glad you see it that way, too, kid," Bill said, turning to the TV mounted in the corner of the ceiling. "You think this thing gets cable?"

Ralph gritted his teeth.

"Okay," he said at last, speaking slowly and carefully. "Let's try this. I'm sorry I didn't realize you were missing for nearly a week."

"Don't sweat it," Bill said, peering down at the floor around the bed. "Most of the time, I didn't know I was missing myself. You seen the clicker for this TV?"

"Bill," Ralph said, his voice rising, "I know you're-"

He stopped. The big orderly's voice echoed in his mind. "You can't force it. Cool down."

Ralph exhaled.

"I know your clicker must be around here somewhere," he said, walking around the bed.

He spotted the thick black brick of the TV controller sticking out of the covers by Bill's feet. He dragged it out and pointed it at the screen.

"What do you want?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Bill.

Bill was staring at the TV.

"Uh," he said. "See if you can find the races."

Ralph started clicking through the channels. Behind him, he heard the bedclothes rustle as Bill lay back against the pillows.

"Thanks, kid," he said quietly.

--------------------

When Pam came back a half hour later they were watching a dozen horses pounding down a race track in Del Mar. She had a coffee cup in each hand and a folded newspaper under her arm.

"Is it safe?" she said, pushing the door open with her hip.

"No," Ralph said, getting up to take one of the cups from her hand. "Bill's still here."

"Hee-larious," said Bill. "If you guys want to cheer me up some more I've probably got a Band-Aid you can yank off really hard."

Pam grinned.

"Don't tease, Bill," she said. "You know how much I'd enjoy that."

"Um," Ralph looked from the coffee cup in his hand to Pam. "I don't want to spill it on him."

"I thought of that," Pam said, fishing in the pocket of her suit jacket. She held out a paper-wrapped straw. "Try this."

Ralph tore off the paper and dropped the straw into the cup. He leaned over the bed and held the straw up to Bill's mouth.

"If Nurse Leslie comes in," he said as Bill took a long pull at the straw. "You're both witnesses that I thought this was really old apple juice."

Bill released the straw and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"You got it," he said. "Counselor, I owe you one."

"At least one," Pam said as she sat back in the chair at the foot of the bed and opened her newspaper.

"Hey, Bill," she said after a moment. "There's something I'm not clear on."

She looked up from the newspaper.

"Who were those guys on the boat?" she said.

"Yeah," Ralph said as Bill took another drag at the coffee. "I was wondering that, too. They were Russian. That's all I know."

Bill released the straw and shrugged.

"A coupla fry cooks from the International House of Psychos," he said. 'Who knows?"

He leaned back toward the cup, but Ralph moved it away.

"Are you telling me," he said slowly, "That you have no idea who those men were or why they kidnapped you?"

"Not a clue," Bill said. "I probably just pissed off the right people in Stalingrad. I like to think my good work's having an effect."

"I don't believe you," Ralph said. "Who's Yavshinko, Bill? It sounded like he's the boss."

Bill sighed and relaxed back against the pillows.

"Ralph," he said, "I don't know who Yavshinko is. He could be head beekeeper at the Kremlin for all I know."

"But," he said, setting his jaw in a hard line, "Whoever he is, I hope he's having a really good time right now so he'll have some pleasant memories to look back on while I'm nailing his head to the floor."

--------------------

Many miles away, on a freighter out in the Pacific Ocean, the man known as the Doctor slipped off a pair of earphones and smoothed his neatly parted hair.

"We have received a new directive, my friend," he said to the hulking figure standing ready by the door. "We are now in search of the hero, Ralph."

Lugaz nodded. The wires holding his jaw together glinted in the afternoon sun shining in through the wide windows of the steering deck.

The Doctor stood and touched his fingertips to the swollen knot on his jaw as he crossed the room.

"We are instructed not to let anyone stand in the way," he said.

Lugaz pushed open the door and held it. The Doctor stopped in the doorway and turned back. A heavyset man with bushy gray whiskers jumped to attention under the Doctor's gaze.

"Captain," the Doctor said, "You will send word when we near California. Yavshinko wishes to meet us when we arrive."

"Yes, Doctor," the captain said quickly. "I'll see to it myself."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Oh, and Captain, have all the injured men been taken to my sickbay?"

The Captain nodded sharply.

"As you ordered, Sir."

"Marvelous," said the Doctor with a tight smile. "I feel the need to… relax."

-end-

------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

Wow! You made it to the end and I love you for it. Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you, thank you, thank you for spending your valuable time with my story. You're awesome.

Yes, it's true – there's more to come! Why? Because it's there. Why can't you see it yet? Because, like so many things, it exists "in Potentia." That's a small town east of Pawtucket.

See below for more FAQs.

1. Who is Yavshinko? (A very bad man with a lot of time on his hands. Not a good combination.)

2. Is the Doctor really several bananas short of a bunch? (Actually, he replaced all of his bananas with mangos because he is c-r-a-z-y)

3. Is it possible to push Ralph too far? (Save this question for Yavshinko)

4. Is Bill really a Super Fed? (The Super-est. He is also the tough-est, the adorable-est, and many other –ests.)

5. Will Bill and Ralph continue to be mistaken for lovers? (Mistaken? Kidding! Sort of.)

6. Hey, what was with that alien guy in the first part? Wasn't that kind of random? (Oh, contraire, mon cher. Are there any coincidences in the universe, really? Here's another question: Is there ever only one member of an alien race? And: Didn't that ship seem a little like an escape pod? dun-dun-dunnn!)

7. I wanna see Tony Villicana cuz he is 2QUT4SKUL! (That wasn't a question, or even English at the end, so it will not be answered. But if it were answered, the answer would be "no." Sorry, I'm just not that into Tony.)

8. Everybody's getting bashed around, but Pam's gotten off scot-free so far. What's up with that? (Save this one for Yavshinko, too.)

9. Stuff the Ruskies! I want more aliens! (Again, not a question. But I like your moxie, so the answer is "yes.")

10. I'm a Whovian and the name of the character "the Doctor" keeps making me flash on long scarves and umbrellas. Couldn't you change his name to "Ted"? (I have the same problem. I thought about calling him the Valeyard, but… Did anyone get that? I can hear you breathing out there. No, really, it has to be the "the Doctor." I'm sorry, but there it is.)

Bonus question: Nobody said "scenario" in this story even once. Are you stupid or something? (Or something. I really tried to fit it in, but it always came out sounding corny. I'm sorry. I'll make up for it in the next one, I promise.)

_and… Roscoe _


End file.
